


The Devil You Don't

by Kissing_Toast



Series: Lupus Nocte [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Sam and Dean are Travellers, Swearing, alternate universe - gypsies, lots and lots of swearing, part of a series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-18 20:47:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4719914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kissing_Toast/pseuds/Kissing_Toast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part two of my Lupus Nocte series.</p><p>Dean has become alpha but the precarity of his position leads the brothers to seek help. Can they figure out a way to keep themselves and their family alive?</p><p>ON HOLD</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Part two of Lupus Nocte. This one won't make much sense if you haven't read part one.
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for reading. Comments and kudos are always welcome :)

He's drunk. Not the blind and black-out, plastered kind of drunk. The wonderfully numb, too-wasted-to-care-about-my-problems kind. After the official anouncement he'd felt dozens of angry eyes on him, members of their clan who had thrown their allegiance with Dimitri and the Kavendish family.

He'd turned to Sam, whispering, “Get me some fuckin' pants,” through clenched teeth while feigning a smile.

The booze was helping to keep the panic at bay, but conversely making him forget that he now had an image to uphold. After staggering back to Dessy's _varda_ he'd pulled on jeans and boots, adding his _înveliş_ coat for good measure. He'd left his torso bare for dramatic effect, planning on getting good and skunked, and hoping that the proof of carnage would deter any would-be remonstrances.

Now he's propped up in a camping chair while Dessy looks on, worry not quite erased from her features, and Sam tries to conciliate the congratulatory crowd, almost like a police officer holding back the press. He empties the whiskey bottle in his hand and tries to find another, limbs not quite remembering how to go about it. Dessy pulls up her chair and leans in close.

“You should take it easy.” Voice trying to cover concern with irritation.

“You got more?” Dean asks instead, holds up the empty bottle and gives it the stink eye.

“At least have some coffee first.” Dessy takes the bottle and puts it aside.

Dean's head falls back. “Okay,” he agrees, half-hearing as his eyes draw shapes in the sky.

He doesn't know how long he sits like that. At one point a cup is pressed into his hand, warm enough to make his palm tingle. Distantly he hears familiar voices, he's drawing a wolf in the stars, and then it's all black.

 

= = = =

 

It's mid-morning when Dean stumbles out of the  _varda,_ eyes red-rimmed and hair sticking up like a surprised porcupine. His climb down to the grass is anything but elegant and he flops into a camping chair in his t-shirt and boxers, squinting against the bright sun.

Sam pours some coffee and passes it to him, trying to hide the smile on his face. Dean takes it and nods before inhaling the restorative liquid.

“You sleep?” He asks, voice not quite smooth, after draining the cup.

Sam shakes his head, emptying his own cup. “Kept watch out here.” He supplies Dean with a refill before sitting again.

“Thanks for having my back, man.” Dean smiles crookedly while saluting with his coffee.

The campground is still quiet. Not many people are moving about yet and they sit in silence for a while.

“Where'd Dessy sleep?” Dean asks after his second cup is empty.

“In the car. I'll go wake her up so I can catch some z's.” Sam starts to leave.

“Sam.”

He stops and turns.

Dean takes a breath, fighting the morning brew trying to work it's way back up his throat. “You know I didn't have a choice, right?”

“I know, Dean.” He says quietly.

They look at each other for a few long minutes.

“You should get cleaned up.” Sam ends the moment, nodding at the flaking blood visible above Dean's collar.

Dean looks down. “Yeah... Go get some sleep.” He looks back up at his brother and watches him go.

Dessy shows up just as Dean is sure his stomach won't evict it's contents. She's down to her underskirt and a tank top, hair falling in messy waves around her shoulders. She looks hungover too.

“You okay?” She asks, setting her bundle of clothes down on one of the empty chairs.

“I could ask you the same thing.” Dean winces, fumbling for the coffee pot over the fire. Dessy swoops in and rescues him from potential injury.

“The car turned into a fucking oven once the sun came up.” She gripes, pours coffee for them both. “I want a damn shower and civilisation...”

“It wasn't much better in there,” Dean jabs a thumb towards the  _varda_ . “And with Nana snoring like a damn freight train...” He winces again like the memory is painful.

“I woulda thought you'd be out cold all night.” Dessy raises a brow.

“I was. But it took me about twenty minutes to get my legs working enough to get out of bed. Couldn't figure out where I was, either.”

Dessy grins behind her coffee cup, laughter eventually bubbling up. “I'm sorry, I don't mean to- It's just, with the hair- and the image I got in my head...” She giggles at the look on his face.

She lets out a slow breath. “I needed a good laugh after last night.”

“Hey, it's not funny.” Dean frowns, too hungover to see the humor.

Dessy laughs again then forces it back, mimicks locking her lips with a key, but it's still there shining in her eyes.

“I gotta clean up. Should be deserted by the stream.” Dean tries to stand on unsure legs.

Dessy steadies him. “You need help?”

“Nah, I've had worse hangovers...” Dean steps around the fire. “I just wish the memories were as easy to get rid of.”

Dessy turns serious in a flash. “Maybe I should go with and keep watch.”

“No.” Dean looks intently at her. “This is how it's gonna be now.”

He steps past her and starts an uncoordinated amble towards the stream.

“Dean, wait up!” He turns to see her disappear into the  _varda_ then come out with a towel. “Don't drown.” She pats his shoulder and sends him on his way.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Sam is woken by a loud bang on the car window. He bolts upright and smacks his head against the roof, scrambles around to see who's there. Dean leans down to look in at him with a crooked grin and a wink, before moving to the rear of the car.

“Dude, what the fuck? You're waking me up after a half hour?” Sam grumbles, extricating himself from the backseat with one hand against his forehead, all wobbly limbs and squinting eyes.

“Need the keys.” Dean holds out a hand.

Sam digs them out of his pocket while rounding the back of the Impala. “You walked through the whole camp in a towel? Really?” He hands the keys to his brother.

Dean takes them and rolls his eyes, opening the trunk. “Not like everyone didn't already see the whole enchilada last night.”

He starts rummaging through his duffel, pulling out clean clothes; locates clean underwear and pulls them on under the towel before peeling it off and throwing it in the trunk.

“Whatever, man. I'm going back to sleep.” Sam begins to climb back in the car, turns and adds, “And, seriously, just give me, like, four uninterrupted hours, alright?”

“Sure thing, Sammy.” Dean smiles wide as he pulls on his jeans.

Sam hears the trunk thud shut before being sucked under by blissful and well-needed nothingness.

 

= = = =

 

After washing, dressing and downing a couple of aspirin Dean feels almost like his old self. The memories are being kept at bay by a constant hum of whiskey and sheer determination. If he lets them they flicker across his consciousness like ghosts saturating his vision – surround-sound technicolor ghosts that want him to lose his marbles. He doesn't let them.

Dessy fries him up some lunch as he sweats in the scorching sun, heart-rate not quite wanting to return to base levels despite his attempts at inner calm. It wasn't his plan to win, not really, but he knew that coming here was a risk in itself. Even if he hadn't been in the running the Kavendish family would surely have tried to finish what they couldn't all those years ago. Now, Dimitri is dead, his parents are out for Dean's blood more fiercely than ever and Dean is the alpha – a place he'd rather not be – and maybe Sam is the only other person in the world that truly understands why Dean couldn't go down without a fight, couldn't not try, couldn't help but succeed. It's their mother's blood – the thing that's kept them alive when all hope seemed lost, when training and intinct fell short. The Lovari have always been known for tapping into the mystical wavelengths. There's a reason they're the ones at every fair and carnival telling people's fortunes and selling love spells. None of it's really bogus either, just tweaked to within an inch of it's life for mass market appeal. No, the true power of the Lovari is that they actually can see the future, can cast spells and can indeed tap into the supernatural. Magic is their game, pure and simple, in all its various forms.

Dessy has the gifts. She's a first cousin on their mother's side, daughter of Aunt Judith, who in turn is the daughter of their grandmother Deanna Campbell. Nana is Dessy's grandmother on her father's side. A smile lights up Dean's face at the pleasant memory of Dessy throwing a charm or two his way when they were young. Usually something to help him scrounge up rent money for the week. But honestly, though he and Sam could tap into that side of their lineage, they never really needed to. Their Dad taught them enough practical skills to get by, taught them to take care of each other and taught them the importance of family – if not their people. The only thing he never taught them was how to deal with all the politics.

That thought wipes the smile right off his face as he finishes his food.

“You okay?” Dessy asks, taking his plate and motioning to refill it. Dean shakes his head.

“You keep asking me that...”

Dessy shrugs and puts the plate down.

Dean glances around, lowers his voice. “Actually, I'm not entirely sure what they expect of me as alpha. I mean, am I a king now or something? Do I have to wear a crown?”

“Ah.” Dessy sits, lighting a cigarette and giving the pack to Dean who takes one gratefully. “You're the leader now. You get veto, a cushy _varda_ and even a harem.”

“Really?” Dean asks with a hopeful smile at the last-mentioned perk.

“No!” Dessy laughs. “But you do get to be in the spotlight, whether you want it or not.” She adds solemnly.

“Shit.” Dean says with real feeling, taking a deep drag, letting it out slow. “Just what I don't need.”

“Exactly.” Dessy agrees knowingly. “The shit John dragged you away from all those years ago, it's gonna come back full force now that you're ruler on high.”

Dean turns in his chair, meets her gaze, lips in a tight line, eyes masking panic with hate.

Dessy nods and continues. “And they're not gonna be reckless enough to come straight at you this time, not now. I suggest you take Sam and get the hell away from here. 'Cause you better believe he's at the top of their list.”

“That means you, Nana, Aunt Jude, you're all on there too. Even Ronnie.” Dean points out, fighting the urge to check his back, confirm the tingling spot that's boring in between his shoulder blades like someone's watching him. He's always had that extra bit of intuition, knowing when shit was about to hit the fan, what dark alley not to walk down late at night, what mark not to extort in a seedy dive. He ignores the feeling, for now.

“We can take care of ourselves. Worry about yourself.” Dessy gathers up his hands in her own. “Please, promise me that you won't sacrifice yourself for us. Please keep yourself safe, keep Sam safe.”

Her lip trembles on a sigh and it cuts Dean like a knife to see it.

“I promise.” Dean says, kissing her cheek.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Dessy pulls away, “Janos came looking for you while you were at the stream. He needs to speak with you.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

Dean wakes Sam and drags him along to the meeting with Janos. The younger Winchester is still surly from lack of sleep but pulls himself together when Dean tells him what's going on.

Janos stops them outside his _varda_. “I will speak only with the alpha.”

The brothers exchange a look. Dean turns back to the Elder. “Anything you have to say to me, you say to Sam too.”

“My dear boy, that's not the way things work.” Janos smiles calmly.

“He's alpha. Doesn't he get to have a bodyguard or something?” Sam challenges.

Janos' eyes flick to him before returning to Dean. “An alpha may choose a lieutenant, of sorts, to consult on matters regarding his reign. But it's not a common practice any-”

“Well then, I'm bringing it back into fashion.” Dean interjects impatiently. “Now give him his secret decoder ring, or whatever, and lets get this show on the road.”

Janos sighs. “This meeting is a private matter between the Elders and the new alpha. No one else is supposed to attend, or know what is spoken...” He's running out of steam and the brothers aren't relenting.

“Hey, you said it, I _can_ pick a second. He's it, case closed.” Dean speaks after Janos goes quiet. “Shall we?”

He gestures for them all to go inside. They go.

The interior of Janos' varda looks full to bursting with Elders packed into the limited space. Not a one of them is under seventy and they've taken up all the available seats. Janos sits across from the entrance, the high seat as it were, leaving Sam and Dean to squeeze in, shoulder to shoulder, inside the door. Both have to hunch considerably in the cramped wagon.

“Screw this.” Dean says to Sam under his breath before kneeling. Sam sees the benefit of this and joins his brother on the floor.

“State your name and lineage.” Janos begins formally.

“Dean Winchester. Son of John and Mary.”

“Sam-”

“Thank you.” Janos cuts Sam off. “Only the alpha is of importance here.” Tone indicating how much he dislikes Sam's presence.

“Watch it.” Dean warns.

Now he has the rapt attention of every man there and Janos is just looking at him, unconcerened and patient. Dean won't cave first, won't give him the satisfaction. Sam looks from one to the other and eventually Janos speaks.

“Our ways have gone unchallenged for more centuries than you can imagine.” He waves a hand as if to dispell the impertinence. “We have traditions to uphold. You are a part of that now, so it would behoove you to keep that temper in check.”

Dean nods almost imperceptibly.

“And you,” Janos speaks to Sam. “Since your brother insists on having you by his side, counsel him towards temperance. A reckless alpha does not last long, not when he can be replaced.”

Sam's eyes narrow but before he can say anything stupid Dean cuts in.

“I thought it was a birthright?”

“A birthright, yes, but still a position that must be earned. That's why you must fight for it, that's why the title isn't just passed from father to son. We have to have the best, the strongest. We are ensuring the survival of our people.”

“So I'm just a pawn in your game? Being alpha means fuck all at the end of the day?” Dean gives a low whistle. “Wow, that is not what it said on the broschure.”

“This isn't about keeping those people out there happy. It's about keeping them alive. _We_ sacrifice! _We_ carry the burden!” Janos lets unchecked exasperation color his words.

“Oh, yeah, I can see that you're all real fuckin' burdoned...” Dean spits back. “You're the secret society putting a ruler on the throne, sitting back, protected, untouchable. Tough gig. Really.”

“Don't presume to know us. The Elder council was around long before we chose to appoint an alpha. We may rule from the shadows, but we still rule.”

“So, you're the hand up Kermit's ass...” Dean pauses, tilts his head to side and decides in that moment to lay his cards down. “Tell me, how disappointed were you when I walked out of those woods instead of Dimitri? How pissed were you that your golden child didn't win the fight?”

There's an almost inperceptible rustle of unease amongst the Elders. Janos holds Dean's gaze with the fortitude of practiced artificiality. He knows how to hide his true emotions but Dean watches him as he lays the accusation before the crowd. He's looking for any reaction, however small, and before Janos can completely school his face the slightest twitch gives him away.

“We are neutral in all things. We do not take sides.” His voice is refined nonchalance again.

Dean has had enough of their games.

“Yeah. Right. Come on, Sammy. We're leaving.”

They rise to go. Sam steps out first but Janos stops Dean before he can get through the door.

“We will call on you, Dean Winchester, and we expect you to answer that call.”

“Fine!” Dean grits out after a few hearbeats of consideration. “But until then, I'm getting as far away from here as I fucking can.”

 

 

= = = =

 

 

“I thought you weren't gonna say yes?” Sam begins when they've moved out of earshot of Janos' _varda_. “You were gonna tell them to shove it.”

“That was before the secret meeting. Everything Janos said, I can't just walk away from this.”

Sam stops them and turns to Dean. “For what it's worth, I was wrong.”

“'Bout what?” Dean asks guardedly.

“About all this. About making you come here... I guess Mom was wrong too. Turns out being alpha isn't some holy grail, just another gig with a bunch of assholes calling the shots.”

“You didn't make me do anything.” Dean insists stubbornly. “And Mom wasn't wrong. She just didn't have all the info. That's not her fault, or yours.”

“I guess...”

“And those fuckers aren't gonna tell me what to do, not ever. So quit worrying about me. Dessy's freaking out enough for all three of us.” Dean flashes his patent grin, perfect deflector for all of life's little problems.

“I'll always worry about you, Dean, you're my brother. But you're right. We gotta figure out what our play's gonna be.”

“Yeah, far away from here. Let's go.” Dean steps past him and heads in the direction of the car.

“We can't just leave, Dean.” Sam hurries to catch up. “What about Ronnie, and Dessy?”

“We're not going back to Ronnie's.” Dean replies coolly. “And Dessy's a big girl, she can take care of herself.”

“How's Ronnie gonna get home? And what about his issues controlling the change?”

Dean stops with a huff. “Fine! You go talk to Anton and Esmeralda, see if they can take him home or let him stay with them. I'll go tell Dessy we're leaving.”

He veers off to the left, leaving Sam eating a metaphorical cloud of his dust.

 


	4. Chapter 4

They're flying over miles of worn blacktop, engine hum their only companion and the only noise in the confines of the Impala. They put Old Haven in the rearview about four hours ago and are headed west. The sun hangs before them like a bloated sack of fire, a smoldering beacon guiding their way.

“Where are we going?” Sam asks, breaking the hypnosis of engine purr and wheels rolling on tarmac.

“South Dakota.”

“Why?”

“'Cause it's the only place we're gonna get an outside perspective on this.”

“Bobby?” Sam exclaims. “You seriously wanna drag Bobby into this?”

“Bobby's like family, he's the only _gadže_ Dad ever trusted,” Dean says, as if that's explanation enough.

 

 

= = = =

 

 

The sun has been lighting their journey for about an hour when the Impala pulls into the Singer Salvage Yard, rumbling engine cut-off rousing Dean from sleep. They pulled over for food and gas at around midnight, switching seats so Sam could drive while Dean slept. Now they both want coffee and to stretch their legs.

Bobby meets them by the back door, dish rag in his hands and apron across his front indicating that they'll get not only coffee but a decent breakfast too.

“Boys.” He nods as they climb out of the car. “Come on in, I'll throw on some more eggs.”

“Ooh, eggs!” Dean lightens up immediately as they follow the older man inside.

They both get a warm hug after wiping off their boots and hanging up their coats.

“Good to see you again.” Bobby says.

“You too, Bobby.” Sam smiles.

Dean nods.

Bobby sets out two extra cups as they sit at the kitchen table, pours them coffee. They both thank him and drink greedily.

“You're coming from the Gatherin' I take it?” Bobby cracks a few more eggs into the skillet, adds some bacon.

“How'd you know?” Sam asks.

“It's my job to know things.” He turns away from the stove, crosses his arms. “So? What's happenin' that merits a drive all the way up here?”

“Couldn't it be that we just wanted a good old fashioned fried breakfast?” Dean smiles charmingly.

“No,” Bobby replies, not missing a beat. “Now spill.”

They fill him in over bacon, eggs and enough coffee to kill a horse.

“Well,” Bobby begins, “that is one gigantic clusterfuck you boys have gotten yourselves into.”

“Yes, thank you Captain Obvious.” Dean snarks.

“Hey! You came here lookin' for my help, don't get pissy with me, boy!” Bobby sets him with a stare that would send demons running for cover.

Dean opens his mouth, closes it, turns to Sam. “You gonna help me out here?”

Sam's face splits into a grin for a fraction of a second. “Nah, man, you're doin' great.”

Dean makes an exasperated noise.

“If you two are quite done...” Bobby says impatiently. They turn their attention back to him. “Looks to me like you got two options: Disappear or play along. 'Cause goin' by what you told me these Elders aren't gonna take no for an answer.”

“I vote for disappearing.” Sam says quietly. “You can't win this, Dean. The Elders are gonna take you out the second you step outta line.”

“Exactly.” Dean says.

“Exactly, what?” Sam's eyebrows meet above his nose.

“They're expecting me to fight this. So if I just play along it'll throw 'em.”

“Play along for how long? You might have to toe their line for years, only to do, what? Tell them off? _Maybe_ get a chance to kill them? And even if you do, the rest of the clan will be out for your head. No. Think about this Dean.”

“I have!” Dean shoots up from the table and paces a line across the kitchen. “I spent the whole ride here weighing my options. And Bobby's right. I can either fuck off for the rest of my life or I can infiltrate the system, change it.”

Sam huffs out a laugh. “I never pegged you for a revolutionary.”

“This isn't about revolution, it's about staying alive. And not putting up with their antiquated bullshit.” Dean retakes his seat, leans towards Sam, willing him to really listen and understand. “Listen to me, Sammy. I never wanted alpha, I just wanted to be a part of our people and live my life. But I'm in this now, for better or worse, and it finally hit me. Mom _was_ right! She always wanted me to live up to my heritage, and now I know why.”

“You think Mom actually saw this?”

“I think that underestimating Mom's gifts would be a mistake.”

Dean's phone trills, the familiar resonace of the guitar riff coming muffled from his pocket. He fishes it out and leaves the room to answer.

“How's he doin'? Really?” Bobby asks when he's gone.

“As well as can be expected, I guess.” Sam sighs.

Bobby tells him with a look that he's not buying.

“He's on edge, scared.” Sam amends quietly. “Can't say I blame him.”

“Not what he signed up for, huh?”

Sam shakes his head.

“Well,” Bobby continues, “if he can't overthrow the system outright, might as well make it work to his advantage.”

Dean walks back into the kitchen. “Dessy's on her way, just passed St. Louis. She'll be here before dark.” And with that the conversation is over. Sam catches some sleep while Dean takes the opportunity to check over the Impala's engine in Bobby's garage.

 


End file.
